


Bella Gerant Alii

by meanoldauthor



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst, Caesar's Legion, Child Loss, F/M, Femdom, Forced Marriage, Homophobic Language, Implied Child Death, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knifeplay, POV Alternating, Stitches, Unhealthy Relationships, but not by much, y'all i'm over-tagging a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-08 06:32:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14099352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanoldauthor/pseuds/meanoldauthor
Summary: Caesar's Legion is one of the most feared entities in the wasteland--an unstoppable, ever-growing cancer that consumes whatever it encounters. Its warriors are peerless, ferocious, nearly immune to pain and utterly devoted to their cause. There are few among them who dare stray from their ideals. The Legion always has more bodies to take their place. But some manage to survive, even thrive--so long as they can justify the costs.Calidus and Aura have both survived over a decade in their respective parts of Legion, and neither plans to throw their life away now. But with a war looming in the Mojave, on a scale not even the Legion has ever seen--and forced to make a reluctant life together--both of them will be pulled into a conflict far beyond their control.Ancillary to, but not required reading for, the Mean Old Lady series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A bit of context on the tags--this is a story about shitty people doing shitty things, with some of them trying to mitigate their shittiness into "not hideous but still complicit." Wether or not they succeed is up to the reader.
> 
> The worst offenders here are not forgiven, and in this fic at least, may not get what's coming to them. Most of the upsetting content is not explicitly shown, but set in the Legion, you might imagine what it entails. Read on forewarned.

She was pretty. Pretty enough, curling gold hair past her shoulders, tawny skin and full lips. She was the tallest in the line of wives standing outside the Flagstaff temple, as was he in the group of men newly assigned to them. She still barely came to Calidus’ chin, eyes down as she put her hands in his, murmuring something he couldn’t hear over the crowd around them.

Caesar was already gone, and the assembled Legionaries were breaking off, returning to their units. Priestesses ghosted up behind the wives, drawing them away. The newly paired men murmured to each other, nodding approval as they turned back toward the city. Most were centurions, a scattering of veteran decani like himself—and the man beside him, who elbowed at him. “Where do they _get_ them all?” he said, looking back at the Temple. “Can’t imagine the wonders in there…”

“Could almost guarantee it’s nothing like you’d hope, Saevus,” Calidus said, following the group headed for the city gates. “That, or becoming a Praetorian here isn’t as much a punishment as they say.”

Saevus snorted, looking the direction the wives had been taken. “Get a little taste of it tonight, either way.”

Calidus nodded, trying to grin. There was something sour in it, and he kept his head down as he walked.

—

His century was camped outside of the city, the Legion’s army too large to fit within Flagstaff’s growing walls. Calidus was senior enough to have his own tent, and he hesitated outside it before sweeping the flap aside.

She stood as he let it fall, smoothing out her skirt. “I am pleased to meet you, my husband,” she said, bowing—and not able to stand straight anyway, avoiding the lantern hanging from the top pole. She gestured to the stool she had been sitting on. “Please, sit, I—”

She looked almost panicked as he sat on the ground, legs folded. “Too tall,” he said, not looking at her. “Head hits the canvas. You take it.”

There was a covered bowl on the floor, and he lifted the lid as she settled. It smelled good, whatever it was. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said, voice strained. “My duties you you are…”

“I know them,” he said, helping himself. Some sort of stew, rich and filling. “What is your name?” he asked, between mouthfuls.

“Aura,” she said, hands clasped on her lap, staring down at them.

“Have you eaten, Aura?”

She kept her head down, watching through her hair. He didn’t more than glance up, eating studiously. “I have not. I thought it better to save…”

He finished half—a little more than half, honestly—and passed her the bowl and spoon. She took it slowly, as though expecting him to snatch it away. 

He shifted as she ate, not facing her as he unlaced his armor, shrugging out of the shoulder pads. He jumped at a hand on him, pulling at the buckle of the leather guard. “That’s not necessary.”

“It is my duty to assist you.” Her hands were almost shaking, and he met no resistance as he took her arm, pulling it away.

“Finish eating,” he said, undoing the buckle himself. “We travel tomorrow, early. Keep up your strength for it.”

Aura retreated as he shrugged out of the guard and unlaced his boots. He rubbed the back of his neck, tension crept into it despite himself, took too long to arrange his things in an easy-to-grab stack by the front of the tent. The scrape of the spoon grew louder as she reached the bottom of the pot, stopped as she set them aside.

Calidus didn’t fully turn to her, but still saw her shrink in on herself. He had to take a breath before he managed, “Lay down.”

She was slow to do so, slipping from the stool to the bedroll. She made no move to lay back, sitting on one hip, a hand on the ground. He glanced over. Her shirt was pre-war, the pink of it faded almost to white, a line of buttons down the front. She lowered her hand from them, the top few undone.

Calidus glanced at her face. She forced a pleasant look, but there was a tension in her eyes.

He lay down where he was, reaching out to turn off the lantern. “You’ll travel with the slaves tomorrow,” he said, using his arm as a pillow. “I’m afraid there are no priestesses coming West with us.”

He couldn’t quite close his eyes, even in the dark. There was a rustle as she settled, hesitantly. He tried to breathe evenly, giving no sign of his restlessness.

—

The march West was slow and uncomfortable. Aura bit her tongue and didn’t complain, spending her days walking with the slaves and other wives—most nights as well, with her husband leading his squad on patrols ahead of the main group.

Rutila was one of the wives with them, a red-haired woman who butchered geckos like an expert, patches of burned skin on her arms with ink still clinging near the edges. Speaking was discouraged, but they kept their heads down as they worked, slaves building up the cook fires beside them, sharing words under the noise.

“No specific territory,” Aura said, kneeling in the dirt, sectioning another yucca fruit. “We traveled, most of the year.”

Rutila kept her head down, peeling the hide from a gecko. She waited for one of the men to pass before saying, “Met a few like that in my time,” she murmured. “Not enough, just to keep moving, in the end.”

“Not nearly,” Aura said, tossing the yucca into a kettle. The slave tending it wouldn’t look at her, but Aura tried to catch her eye and smile.

“Yours is back,” Rutila said, nodding at the camp.

Aura glanced up. She could make him out past the gathered Legionaries, a head taller than most of them. He had another gecko on his shoulders, already gutted. She tried not to stare as he made his way to them, trading nods and quick words with the men around him. Beside her, Rutila murmured thanks as the gecko was set in reach. She could see him lingering, and looked up, forcing a smile to her face.

He looked down at her, neutral. Fair, he was, with a spill of freckles across his nose and cheeks. In the sun, his eyes were light, hazel. Handsome, she tried to convince herself, and she braced for some gesture, some call to finally see to their duty.

Instead, he just inclined his head to her, turning away, and she lost sight of him in the crowd.

“Tall babies,” Rutila said, nodding after him.

Aura lowered her head and kept cutting.

—

Calidus limped back into camp, after patrols. There were night stalker on the far side of the Colorado river, his men had found out. The hard way. The Mojave was a hellhole, and he tried not to think poorly of his superiors, so set on claiming it. The bite on his leg still throbbed, and he swallowed against the metallic taste in his mouth from the antivenom. He steeled himself as he neared his tent, but didn’t break stride as he stepped into it.

Aura jumped, hiding something behind herself. He pretended to miss it, settling with his leg outstretched. The bandage was almost bled through, running into his boot.

“You’re wounded.” It was more statement of fact than concern, even as Aura half-stood, eyes darting as she tried to find somewhere to hide what was in her hand.

“Not serious,” he said, untying another dose of healing powder from his belt. He sighed as she knelt next to him, a roll of gauze in hand. “You don’t…”

She drew back, face hidden by her hair. “Have I displeased you?”

“No,” he said, unwrapping the old bandage. “I’ve tended my own wounds long enough. I do not need assistance.” He packed the powder over the bite, but with her watching, he fumbled the gauze, dropping the rolled end. He pressed his lips thin as she caught it, started wrapping the bandage more snugly than he would have.

He didn’t watch her as she did, spotting the book next to her stool. “You can read?”

Aura faltered as she unrolled the bandage on his leg, tight enough to slow the bleeding further. “I am sorry. If you disapprove—”

“I don’t care,” he said, more frustration creeping into it than he wanted. Her touch was gentle, lingering, something about it putting a softness in the pit of his stomach. It was foreign, intrusive.

It felt…good.

He loathed it.

“Read, if you like,” he said, staring at a spot on the canvas of the tent. “Just don’t let any of the others catch you.”

“Yes, husband,” she said, tucking the loose end under itself.

He pulled away as she did, wincing as he tried to sit more comfortably. She stayed beside him, and he tried to ignore it, loosening his armor.

“The healers asked if I would serve with them,” she said, looking at the ground. “I thought I should ask you, first—”

“If they need you, go,” he said, not facing her. “You’re no good to anyone, sitting around here.”

“Of course.”

He saw her draw back slightly, and bit his tongue.

—

Their healers had set up a small infirmary on the edge of camp. The entire thing was growing, slowly, more reinforcements coming West to bolster their numbers. Caesar and his Legate, even, were expected to arrive any day.

Aura spent most of her days with the healers, tending men coming back from battles with the enemy—the Bear, the NCR—with bullet and shrapnel wounds. An enemy with better technology than the tribes they usually skirmished with, then, and one that didn’t like to close with the Legion fighters.

Smart of them, she thought, pulling splinters of metal out of a man’s back. The pain should have had him writhing, but he sat stock-still, only occasionally grunting as she dug with her forceps. If the Legion did one thing right, it was weeding out the frail from their ranks.

She sent the man off with a dose of bitter drink, rinsing her hands clean in a bucket. Two of the slaves working under her sat at a table, one grinding broc and xander to dust, the other dosing out the ingredients for Hydra.

“It’s just across the river,” one of them murmured. “We could go at night, get out while the watches change…”

“You know what they’ll do,” the other said. “Don’t. Please.”

“She’s right,” Aura said, straightening. Both the women jumped, looking guiltily down. She dried her hands, not facing them. “They won’t kill you, for running. Or not fast enough, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Well, you’re a wife,” the one making Hydra said. She fished in a jar of Radscorption glands with a pair of tongs. “Got it a little easier than the rest of us. Death is still better than this place.”

Aura pressed her lips thin, but didn’t correct her. A voice outside brought her head up, and she gestured for them to move to the back of the tent, the separate storage area for their tools. “Get out of sight. Be quiet.”

Saevus strode into the tent, eyes searching the far end before settling on her. “Alone today, lovely?” 

Aura sat behind the table, slicing open a poison gland and draining the contents into a bottle. “At the moment, Decanus. Are you injured?”

“Oh, just aching,” he said, walking past the row of empty cots. Aura stood as he neared her, and he glanced behind her. “One of the girls who works here. With the black hair. Where is she?”

“I sent her off with the slaves doing the washing, Decanus.” She sidled toward the edge of the table, barring the gap that led to the storage area. “I am not sure when she will finish. We’re running low on clean bandages.”

Saevus lifted his chin, looking down at her. She kept her head up, but didn’t meet his eyes. As another man’s wife, he shouldn’t be able to touch her—but in a Legion who named its men like dogs, for the traits they showed most strongly…

He smiled, an edge in it that made her heart seize. “Gets a little boring, you realize, when the healers have told you to leave your own wife alone for the sake of her unborn.”

“Your restraint is remarkable. I can’t imagine the fortitude it takes to not force yourself on someone,” she said, and tried not to let her panic show.

He laughed. She tried not to flinch as he reached out, running a hand across her belly. “Really? Seems like you would know,” he said, as she stepped away. “If Calidus is disappointing, we can work something out, you and I.”

Aura clenched her fists to stop them shaking, grasping for something, anything to say.

Saevus smirked at her as he left.

—

The Mojave campaign dragged on, into the winter. The NCR was firmly entrenched in the Mojave, every inch the Legion won hard-fought. Calidus slept soundly whenever he could get it, and nights he could spend in his own tent, and the safety of the Legion camp, were rare and to be savored.

A chattering sound woke him, and Calidus was almost on his feet, hand reaching for his machete. Eyes adjusting to the dark, there was no movement in the tent…except for Aura, barely an armspan away, curling up tighter under a blanket. She hid her face, still shivering. “I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t…”

“It’s not that cold,” he said, laying back down. He made out her nod, but she didn’t stop trembling. He breathed out, watching the air, saw the vapor of his breath crystallize in the chill. Even in a desert, the winter nights could be frigid. She had her back to him as he settled, on her separate bedroll. Simpler, than sharing space. Than dealing with her touch, than…facing duty.

She kept shivering, muffling the sound of her teeth as well as she could. His wife. His responsibility.

Calidus finally sighed, lifting the edge of his own blanket. “Come here.”

Aura looked back over her shoulder, fear on her face almost lost in the dark. He beckoned to her, mouth set.

She rose slowly, bringing her own blanket with her. He took it from her as she lay down, throwing it over himself. “Closer,” he made himself say, and she scooted in from the edge of the pad. Flinching at the first touch, he laid a hand at her waist, drawing her in. “Closer.” Her body was rigid against him, and he frowned, his hand closing over one of hers as he tucked the blankets in. “You’re freezing.”

“I ap-p-pologize, husband, I d-d-d—”

“Don’t,” he said. He lay his arm over her, not quite holding, but nowhere else to put it. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, more gently. “Just sleep.”

Her shivering slowed, and she quieted. A few stray hairs tickled at his face, but he didn’t dare shift to brush them away, disturbing her.

She smelled nice, so close; warm and faintly sweet.

Calidus drove the thought from his head, closing his eyes and trying to ignore how her body felt against his.

—

He was already there one evening, as Aura returned from the healer’s tents. The Bear had made for formidable foes, in skirmishes on both sides of the river, leaving their healers with an excess of work. Aura bowed her head to him, setting her bag of supplies aside. “I apologize for my lateness. Here, I brought food, I thought you might not have…”

He barely looked up, running his machete over a whetstone, and nodded at her stool.

A pair of battered old books sat on it.

She looked back to him, for permission, and hissed silently at herself for it. Calidus didn’t seem to notice, testing the edge of the blade against the back of a thumbnail. Aura knelt next to the stool, turning them over in her hands. Small, but in excellent shape, yellowed with time but little other damage. “Where did…?”

“One of the ruins, on the far side of the river,” he said, watching under his brow. “What are they?”

“ _Tales of Chivalry,_ ” she said, the first with what looked like a winged deathclaw on the cover, “and _The Dragon’s Keep_ ,” this with a woman barely wearing a robe. “Old world silliness,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. “I hope bringing them here was no burden to you.”

“Will you read them?”

Aura looked up at him, and he glanced away. “Yes. Of course.”

“Then they were no burden.” He sheathed the machete, not watching her. She took a seat on her stool, and he busied himself with the covered bowl she had brought him.

She kept her head down, opening one. From the first few sentences, she could tell it as going to be so much drivel, but the novelty of a new book kept her going. She lost herself in it for a few pages, before the silence grew too much, and she looked up.

He looked away, pretending he hadn’t been watching her, chin in hand. “I am sorry, husband, I shouldn’t—”

“No, no, you are…” He didn’t seem to know how to finish the sentence, shaking his head and moving to lay on their bedroll.

“Can you read?” she asked, and wished she could take the words back as soon as they passed her lips.

A shake of the head. “Not well,” he said, still leaning on an elbow. “Suppose it was a bit of favor, giving me a wife who could.”

The words seemed to put a chill in the air. He pressed his lips thin, moving as if to turn over.

Aura slid off her stool as he did, halting the motion. She paged back to the front, clearing her throat. “’The silver moon shimmered over the turbid lake, an uneasy omen in uneasy times…’”

He leaned forward to follow along, resting against her back.

—

The camp along the Colorado grew tense. The Malpais Legate was readying his men to fight, with all eyes on the Dam. Calidus kept his head up, the weight of the Centurion’s helm on his head unfamiliar, nerves still singing from meeting Caesar and the Legate in person. _Titus Calidus_ , he was now.

It was hard to shake the feeling he was being mocked, somehow.

He nodded to a few of the men who called to him, congratulations for his promotion, asking who would serve under him, or just jeering at the promise of a fight. All of them had grown short-tempered, punchy, wound tight on the brink of war. He kept his responses short, reserved, not feeding back into it all. There was something unreal in it, knowing he was to lead the assault on Camp Golf, away from the main attack on Hoover Dam. Was it confidence in his skills, operating away from his commanders? Or a question of them, shuffling him aside rather than risk putting him in the thick of the fight?

Voices brought his head up, passing by the mess. Aura still helped the slaves and officers’ wives there from time to time, their husbands gone for days at a stretch on patrols West. He glanced at the cook fires, searching for Aura, but there were only slaves there today, none daring to look up as he passed. He frowned, coming around the side of the shelter.

She stood facing him, teeth gritted and her eyes cast down, both hands clenched on the handle of a bucket. A Legionary stood between them, reaching out to stroke at her hair. “I’m not _asking_ , lovely, but you know it hurts less if—”

He never got a chance to finish, Calidus grabbing him at the belt and collar and heaving. The man hit the ground so hard he bounced, trying to roll away as he caught his breath. Calidus stomped hard between his shoulders as he started to push himself up, grabbing his hair to haul his head back. “Any disrespect you give to her, is disrespect to _me_ , Saevus. We can solve this here, and you can live, or we end it in the Arena…and you will not be the man to leave.”

His eyes were watering at the strain, but he managed a laugh, still breathless. “She as into the hair pulling as you are?” he said between his teeth. “Rumor has it, you should try something new to—”

Calidus kicked him in the ribs as he stepped away, hard enough to raise a sharp _crack_. Saevus had to curl up on himself, gasping for breath. The men in sight had stopped, watching, stress and bloodlust in them as they waited for the next blow. “Save your strength for the Bear, then,” Calidus said, louder, hoping none of them were close enough to hear the last. “Approach her again, we’ll have one less man to march on the West.”

He climbed slowly to his feet, holding his side. “Just trying to save your neck, Cal,” he grunted. “Happy to give you a hand with the child quotas. You’ll be the one missing, otherwise.”

Calidus didn’t acknowledge it, gesturing for Aura to join him as he turned. She stepped close, head still down, and he took her elbow as they walked. The men in their way broke up, a few catcalls following them to their tent.

He let her through first, reaching under the flap to keep the bucket of water from spilling as she set it down. The crest on his helmet caught on the canvas, and he let it drop. Aura sat on the ground, stool overturned next to her, hands to her face. Kneeling behind her, Calidus reached for her shoulder, hand hovering over her back. “Are you…”

She shook her head, not turning. He settled back on his heel, folding his hands on a knee. “A priestess came through while you were out, with her caravan,” Aura said, voice strained past the calm she forced into it. “Collected the pregnant wives and newborns. Had questions for me. We…”

“We have been…paired off six months, with no sign of a child,” he said, head down. _Married_ was a poor word for it, a brief meeting before her simply appearing in his tent. All with the expectation of violence, and for it, more bodies to feed to the Legion.

“I don’t care,” she said over her shoulder, teeth gritted, “why you don’t want me. If you favor men, if there’s something _wrong_ under that stupid skirt, or—I don’t know. I’m safer with you. The safest I’ve been since the Temple. Since…since my tribe was slaughtered by you butchers. If we don’t… don’t even try, they’ll…” He looked up, under his brow. She was facing him, looking him in the eye for the first time he could remember, and almost in tears. “Don’t let them give me to someone like him.”

He held her look a long moment. “Neither of us want this.”

Aura narrowed her eyes, but shook her head. “I don’t care.” Her hands were trembling as she tried to unbutton her shirt, fumbling at it. “I don’t…I don’t…”

He caught her hands, pulling them away, then pulled her closer to him. She tucked her head under his chin, shaking, and he put his arms around her, unsure of what else to do. He could smell the tang of fear on her, and the feel of her body against his made his heart beat harder, made him want to hold her tighter, something soft and strong and inexorable welling up in him.

 _Love_ was a pointless, stupid word, one that he knew—they both knew—would never be for them.

But simply holding her close, as Aura tried not to cry, Calidus swore to himself that no harm would come to her.

—

He had been given a larger tent with his centurion status, tall enough he no longer had to stoop inside it. But, Aura figured, there was no good way to deal with his height sometimes. He knelt before her on the ground, her on the edge of a cot, a basin and tools beside her. She worked her fingers through his hair, just long enough for the curl in it to start to show. He was tense at her touch, but she didn’t acknowledge it, continuing to lather soap down to the scalp. Satisfied, she wiped a bit of water running down the back of his neck as she reached for the straight razor beside her.

She let her legs press against his back, more than necessary. He almost leaned away, but the razor on his skin held him still. She wiped it clean before taking another stroke, words just behind her lips that didn’t want to be spoken.

 _‘We have to try,’_ and she discarded it for sounding desperate. Flattery was out of the question, they had both already made their reluctance clear. _‘A real man would do it’_ was fraught.

Her husband just sat patiently, waiting for her to finish. He was handsome enough, she supposed. Indifferent to her, at his worst, distant at his best. She could have been sent to tend a worse man, Aura reminded herself. A cruel one, one who enjoyed her pain or refused her to leave their tent. She had met wives who had been placed with such men, the Legion overflowing with them—and their women with bruises and scars, bellies constantly round with child.

What a stupid threat to have at her heels. She was stuck with the one man in the Legion who wouldn’t fuck her, and soon she would be paired with someone who would.

Aura wiped the blade clean again, hesitated as she raised it, hovering level with his throat. A glance showed his eyes were closed, and some impulse made her bring it closer, a finger’s breadth from his skin.

“Do you have a way out?”

She froze. He didn’t turn.

“If you are going to kill me, at least have some purpose in it. Have a plan to escape.”

Heart pounding, Aura brought the blade closer, resting the edge on his throat. She knew the patrol routes, the ways through camp. She could…

Eyes still shut, Calidus lifted his chin slightly, waiting.

Aura pressed the flat of the razor under it, tipping his head back. He didn’t fight as she leaned forward, placing a lingering kiss on his unresisting lips.

He didn’t move as she pulled away, lips parted to breathe, eyes half-lidded. _Undone_ , she might have said of any other man, so unused to touch and tenderness that even something so small overwhelmed him. She had seen it in him, hesitation as he touched her, flinching whenever she laid a hand on him. And sure enough, he came to his senses with faint anger on his face at being so affected.

He tried to lower his head, but she kept the razor where it was. Aura laid a hand on his cheek, felt his breath stutter as she brought her mouth to his again, barely catching his lower lip between her teeth.

A shiver went through him, passing into her. “You want me,” she murmured.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She looked down at him, trailing her fingers along his throat, barely brushing his skin. His eyes went soft with it, even as he tried to set his teeth, drive the sensation away. Aura pressed herself closer, kissing his throat where the razor had rested, wrapping her arm around his chest. “I won’t let you,” she said, lips brushing the pulse in his neck, feeling it jump. “ _You want me_.”

With the word almost lost in his breath, he whispered, “Yes.”

He started to reach for her, and she pressed the blade closer, nicking the skin. He froze, hands partly raised, hands that could have snatched the razor from her, or broken her wrist, or crushed her throat without a thought. “Turn,” she said, and he complied, still kneeling. The razor was back at his throat, and he tried to hold still as he breathed, eyes on her free hand as she loosed the buttons on her shirt. “No,” she said as it fell open, his hands coming closer. He sighed, frustration in it, and the sound made something satisfying curl deep in her belly.

This Legionary, a Centurion, half her weight again in muscle and scar; one of the deadliest men she had even been faced with…who knelt before her, stripped to a tunic, almost trembling with need as she held a blade to his throat.

It was heady, looking down at him, helpless and yearning, and with a look in his eye that begged for more.

Aura hiked up her skirt as she stood, hooking a bare leg over his shoulder. His body was pliant under her, leaning to help keep her balance. “Hold me,” she whispered, and he did so eagerly, the scratch of callus on her thighs sending a shiver up her back. She could feel his breath on her legs, saw the apprehension behind the raw longing on his face, one hand on her raised hip to steady her, the other wrapped around her leg and creeping slowly towards her slit. “Stop,” she said, voice husky, and he did, delicious agony in his expression.

She pulled her skirt higher, revealing the nothing under it, and he moaned as she tipped his head back, settling herself on his face. His hands clenched on her as her legs wavered, his mouth hot and wet on her, fumbling and inexpert but full of a raw passion that made her press him closer, holding herself up on his shoulder. Aura guided him with a tilt of her hips, until his tongue found the peak of her, making her tremble. He nuzzled closer, stroking it again, again, each pass firm and soft, building heat in her. Looking down, she met her eyes, rapture in them as he sucked at her. She bit back a croon as her knees went weak, his fingers digging in as he took her weight.

He gasped like a drowning man as she stepped back, supporting her as she sank down to straddle his thighs, trying to draw her lips to his—and freezing as she brought the razor between them. Calidus closed his eyes, teeth almost gritted as she reached down, rubbing at him as she pulled at the his tunic, trying to find the tie of his loincloth. He didn’t move, panting as she slipped a hand under the fabric, made a noise low in his throat as she wrapped a hand around him, rubbing the length of him as she pulled his erection free.

The razor was still under the crook of his jaw, and she had to press it tighter as he tried to pull her close. “Please,” he grunted as she teased at him, fascinated, the hunger in his eyes almost gone to pain. “Please, let me— _oh_ ,” as the rubbed her thumb on the tip of him, playing with the fluids there. He whimpered, eyes shut as he clutched at her, lapsing into some whispered tribal dialect, words broken and desperate, begging.

She pushed herself higher on his lap, and he lifted her to him. Stroking at herself, she sheathed him in her by inches, reminding him of the blade when he tried to jerk himself deeper, drawing blood. His lips were parted, but he made no sound as she eased him into her, thick enough to make her dig her nails into his shoulder, making low sounds of pleasure.

He groaned with her, trying to muffle it, and she wrapped her arms over his shoulders, pressing his face to her chest. She could feel him panting as she rocked her hips against his, her weight keeping him from thrusting into her, but pushing him deep in a way that made her back arch and her muscles clench. She rode him slow, drawing out her satisfaction, only giving him freedom to move when the sensation was almost too much to bear.

He was silken-smooth in her, the pleasure almost painful in its intensity. He didn’t last long, pulling her tight to him at the last, whispering something soft and ragged and with the cadence of a prayer, jerking into her and making her gasp along with him. They held each other as the rush faded, hearts slowing, breath calming. Aura leaned back, stroking his neck and shoulders, and he brushed back the hair that had fallen in her face. He worked his fingers in it as he pulled her down to a kiss, sharing the salt-sweet of her on his lips, reluctant to part even as he gasped for air.

Pulling away, she looked down at him, and he looked back up, face inches from hers. For a moment, she let herself imagine it was a lover’s gaze, desire and need tangled up in themselves. That there was no army beyond the walls of their tent, or wars; that they had chosen each other for respect as much as passion, for the way their hearts beat near each other. Imagined, for a fleeting second, that this was something more than duty, as he held her to him, touching her gently, tenderly, for the first time.

He broke the look first, glancing away, back to avoidant, uncertain. Aura untangled her hair from his fingers as he pulled his hand away, still holding her up with the other. He slipped out of her as she shifted, and she tried not to make a face at the mess as she stood, trying to keep it off her skirt.

Disgusting.

Necessary.

Calidus reached to feel the trickle of blood at his throat, as she turned for the rag and pail at the back of the tent. By the time she had cleaned herself, he had his back to her, kneeling, hands slow and shaking as he finished the work on his scalp.


	2. Chapter 2

The Legion had dispersed after their defeat at the Dam, leaving Caesar’s armies scattered and confused, trying to orient itself without a Legate. It made for uncertain days, and the men bounced between terror and fury, untested officers filling roles vacated courtesy of the NCR’s snipers.

Calidus had escaped notice—or at least punishment—at Camp Golf, driving the Bear almost into full retreat before the recall order came. It had been tempting to keep pressing West, routing them completely and taking the base for the Legion. But he recalled the messenger, shaking terror, _We’ve lost the Dam. The Legate has called retreat…_

The Legate, at the edge of the Grand Canyon, with Caesar and his officers looking on. He hadn’t made a sound. For all the things he had seen in the Legion’s ranks, done in them…Something about the Legate’s furious silence troubled him more than seeing him reduced to pleading.

Finally, the Legion had turned back to their borders, hewing through the tribes on the edges of their territory. It was grim work, and Calidus steeled himself against it. People must die, in order for the Legion to grow strong once more, and the world to come to order. The profligate West would fall. One failure, no matter how catastrophic, would not define them.

Would it?

Calidus stomped the thought down, watching his men drilling just outside their occupied town, with a critical eye on the recruits. Most were Temple-raised these days, and the priestesses said it made them fit to fight at a younger age. He was in no place to argue it, but it bothered him somehow, children with hard eyes and sharp machetes.

“Just need that batch to hit a growth spurt, and we’ll be hunting the next tribe for a meal as much as for slaves.” Calidus didn’t react, Saevus stepping up alongside him, giving him a hard slap on the back. “You’d know all about that, would you, Jejunus?”

He looked over, forcing a smile. “Call me that again, and I’ll break your arm.”

Saevus laughed, adjusting the power armor pauldron he’d affixed to his centurion’s armor. “You could try,” he said, as though it were some great game. “How old were you, anyway? Twelve? Too young, we could get you to do _anything_ if we promised you an extra ration, remember?”

Calidus said nothing, watching the men. All moved crisply, trading blocks and strikes of the machete. Maybe this new bunch would be worth the time after all…

A nudge broke his train of thought. “I saw you knocked her up at last, but you know you can’t reward yourself with one of them.”

Calidus had half turned, but a yell from the training yard made him pause. One of the recruits staggered back, his opposite in line advancing. The Legionaries around them backed away, forming an impromptu arena around the pair. They were both too angry to be coordinated, too young to care, swinging wildly as they screamed insults. The smaller one fell to a kick to the gut as Calidus approached, and he tried to scramble up, winded, as the other raised his blade. Both wavered at the sight of him, and Calidus stopped, waiting.

And from behind him: “Kill him, already!”

Calidus raised a hand. The training yard was dead still, all eyes on him. He could hear Saevus behind him, shifting his weight eagerly.

He jerked his chin at the recruits. “Get up. Return to your training.”

“What?” Calidus ignored him, headed back toward the camp proper. “He was down! He deserved to die, if he couldn’t defend himself.”

“It’s my century,” he said, cutting between two of the buildings, towards the center of town. “I’ll run it how I wish.”

“Listen, I know you’re sweet on the boys, but—”

He made a strangled noise as Calidus closed a hand on his throat, slamming him against the building hard enough to send plaster crumbling down. “I am very tired of the shit that leaks from your mouth,” he said, slow and clear. “If you would like to keep your jaw attached to the rest of you, I suggest you go stand over a latrine and let me handle my men as I please.”

Saevus grunted, prying his hand off. “Learn to take a joke, Cal.”

He let him go, not breaking eye contact as he turned. Footsteps beat on the road, and Calidus nodded to the runner. “Ave, Centurions,” he said, saluting. “The priestesses sent me, to tell you your wife has started labor, and will not be available for at least a day.”

The boy bowed his head, turning away. “Wait,” Calidus said, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Is that all?”

“Yes, sir?” He tensed, as if ready for a blow.

Calidus let him go, heading for the building the priestesses had claimed, beside the infirmary tents. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten sentimental about her, Cal,” Saevus said, pacing him. “Or _did_ you get so used to fucking her, you can’t wait to—”

He ignored him, one of the priestesses’ Praetorians coming alert by the door, a hand on his machete. “Ave, Centurion,” he said, a little reserved. “I am afraid you are not allowed to enter.”

“My wife is in there,” he said. “It’s too early for her. The child…”

“The priestesses know their work,” he said, diffident. “They will return your wife to you as soon as she is well enough to walk.”

Calidus stared down at him. The Praetorian looked coolly back, hand not leaving his blade.

Calidus inclined his head to him, turning away.

—

He spent nearly a week in the field, leading his men into the southeast reaches of New Mexico. The tribe in the region, the Hidebarks, were nothing but frustration to the Legion, but they were running out of room to hide. Soon, they would be cornered, and the Legion could dispose of them at last. Perhaps with the distraction gone, Caesar could turn to naming a new Legate, and finally they could start making some real progress.

He didn’t look up as he let the flap fall behind him, startling at motion inside. “Aura.”

She kept her eyes down as she stood. Her white skirt was gone, changed for something darker, salvaged. With cool distance in it, she said only, “Husband.”

Reaching out to her, he stopped himself. “The child?” Her face hardened, and he shook his head. “Are _you_ alright?”

“It was too young,” she said, sitting again and raising her sewing. “Its lungs weren’t formed. But I know the priestess with us, I convinced her to count it towards our quota anyway.”

She sat with her back to him. He stood there a long moment, not quite reaching for her. Calidus finally let his hand drop, pulling at his armor.

—

Aura was allowed to watch, with the other wives, as Caesar stood before his gathered Legion. Beside him was a figure that made Calidus look small, in armor unlike any the Legion had seen, with a scowling mask looking out over his army. Nearest to them stood Caesar’s officers, his Praetorians and centurions. She could make out Saevus among them, looking eagerly on. Further back, Calidus had his arms folded, face neutral.

The men sent up a roar as Caesar finished speaking. _Legate Lanius_.

Aura shifted to the front of the wives’ group, standing at the elbow of a priestess. Arms folded, the priestess took a slip of paper from her, tucking it into the folds of her stole. She glanced at the people around them, making sure none had seen.

He had been brought to their healers, as Caesar returned from the Hidebarks’ camp. At first, Aura was unsure that he would survive, some blow to the skull leaving it badly cracked, flesh torn from bone. Between her and her healers, he survived the first night, at least, but didn’t wake for days.

And now, weeks later, with two more tribes no more than a memory, she regretted every stitch she had made, every measured dose of Hydra. Wife or not, she would not have survived letting him perish, with Caesar hovering curiously over her shoulder as she worked.

It would have been worth it.

—

Calidus lay under her, the cold edge of his own machete against his throat. Aura moved herself against him, slick and sweet, using him to drive herself to pleasure. He gritted his teeth, savoring it, holding back until she lowered the blade. Looking down, her hair was trailing loose, streaked with sweat, back arching as he thrust into her. That was all it took, losing himself in a hot, animal rush of need.

They breathed a moment, the feeling fading. She had her hands on his waist, supporting herself, and he sat up to gather her to him, skin on skin, kissing her neck and chest and burying his face in her hair as he murmured, “I love you.”

He felt her tense. Calidus didn’t move, face hidden, wishing he could unsay it. He didn’t resist as she pushed him back, glanced away from her uneasy look.

He let her go, making no further move to speak. She climbed off him without a word, gathering up her clothes.

—

They spoke less, for a time. Aura woke sick for days in a row, dull dread in her, hoping it was a passing illness, or if not…If not, then that it would pass anyway.

It didn’t.

He held her face in his hands when she told him, pressed his forehead to hers. Aura held him there a long moment, feeling the ache in him nearly as much as herself. She hardened her heart to it; what could he know about giving part of his body away, of the demands he made of her?

_Neither of us want this._

_I love you._

He was gone days at a time, in the field, and Aura spent them alone, rather than work with the healers and cooks. The last one had been born early for it, the priestesses said, told her to rest. He returned after a stretch with a young woman in tow, slightly built with dark hair and eyes. Neither of them met her eyes as he introduced her. Merula, her name was, an…assistant to tend to her through the pregnancy.

There was a cold silence, until Aura finally said, “You _bought_ me _another human being_.”

He flinched at the words, made an excuse to be elsewhere that night.

She grudgingly accepted Merula’s help, cooking and mending, tried to make sure she knew her anger was not with her. Friendship was slow to form between them, but Aura was grateful for her assistance, and Merula for the safe harbor of an owner who pretended she didn’t exist.

The Legion moved north, the border of the Colorado wasteland looming, over the next nine months. At the end of it, Aura counted it a blessing the priestess with them was a healer in her own right. She lay, exhausted, in a portioned-off corner of the infirmary tent, the priestess cleaning away bloodied linens.

She almost didn’t want to look down. She could make out the wisps of near-white hair on the baby’s head, could feel it breathing on her bare chest, both of them too tired to do more than that.

A girl.

Aura breathed deeper, trying not to cry as she imagined her future.

She woke to voices, a rattle of armor. Calidus knelt next to her, stroking hair from her face. The light was low, evening, and she couldn’t make out his expression.

But there was awe in his voice, something close to heartbreak, as he whispered, “She’s perfect.”

—

The decanus tried to fight back, at least. Calidus caught the swing of his machete, twisting his arm to lock the joint, holding him immobile as he swung for his head. One blow, two, and his armored fist made for a wet _crunch_ against his skull.

He let the man drop, turning to look back at his century, arranged in tight ranks. “Anyone else?”

The front row was staring down at the body, twitching as the last life fled from it. None moved.

“By rights, I should order decimation of the rest of you,” Calidus said. He saw the ripple of fear pass through them, preparing for the worst. “But I haven’t dragged the lot of you through this godforsaken frontier just to travel under-strength. Not _yet_. See to his example,” he said, pointing to the corpse, “if any of you feel you could shirk your responsibilities.” He gave them one last, long look, testing if any would meet his eyes. None dared. “You and you, dispose of this. The rest of you, dismissed.”

They filed off. He watched them go, waiting until the clearing was empty before turning.

The Legate had paused, just in hearing, a few of his Praetorians trailing him. Calidus stared a moment, uncertain, before bowing his head. He waited to look up until he heard them move on, heart pounding. Footsteps moved away from the group, and Saevus approached, shaking his head. “Legate thinks you’re taking the soft option.”

“Who are you to say what the Legate thinks?” Calidus said, too weary to put much anger in it.

“Part of his war council now, is who,” Saevus said. Calidus looked sharply at him, and he stared back, smug. “Listen, Cal, we’ve been through a lot together. You’re fun. I’d hate to see you dead now.” He reached up, grabbing him by the shoulder and giving him a shake. “Just follow my lead and toughen up a bit, alright?”

“I’d rather not run a century that’s half recruits, to replace competent men,” he said, shrugging him off. “You’re burning veterans on stupid errands. See how long you last in the war council when your oldest fighters still have their voices cracking.”

Saevus waved it away. “That’s you missing the point. The veterans I have _left_ are eyeing your post.” He grinned. “And honestly, I think they could take it.”

Calidus stared down at him, anger—and something like fear—rising in his gut. He tried to keep it off his face, stepping away. “Then have them meet me in the Arena,” he said over his shoulder. “If they want it, they can earn it.”

—

Aura tied off the stitch before starting another. Calidus tried not to flinch, but his jaw clenched as the needle sank into his cheek. The blow had been caught by his helmet, but the lower part of the machete had bit from under his cheekbone to down into his chin, just missing the corner of his mouth.

Part of her wanted to scold him. Arena fighting was one more stupid risk, one more way for her to be thrown to the wolves.

The rest of her didn’t care. The girl had been taken by the priestesses, and Aura had to remind herself that the child had never been hers.

He waited until she was finished to speak, leaning away, but still sitting on his heels. “Did they let you name her?”

 _Yes._ But she wasn’t as cruel as the priestess had been, even as she tried to be kind. “No,” Aura said aloud, stowing the thread in her kit and dropping the needle in a pot to boil clean.

“Good,” he said, so softly she almost imagined it.

Neither of them moved further, staring at nothing. Aura gritted her teeth as the tears welled up, not breaking the spell until she wiped angrily at her face. He looked over at the motion, reaching out.

“I don’t want another one,” she choked, pushing him away.

“I know.” She didn’t respond as he drew her off the stool, onto his lap. “I know. Neither do I. I know,” he murmured, pointless patter as he pressed his lips against the top of her head, cradling her to him. “We’ll be punished, if we don’t. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

“Then let them kill us,” she said, the words raw. “Whatever hell we’re bound for can’t be worse than this.”

He tried to speak, but she heard his throat close off, holding her so tightly it hurt.

—

The Legion’s advance into Colorado was a slow, painful grind. The tribes in its south reaches were pitiful, their numbers barely enough to replace the men lost to wildlife and illness, never mind the deaths in combat. But Lanius kept them forcing ahead, ever north, skirting the mountains and pushing through the hills to the east.

A year, and they hardly secured land farther north than Alamosa, striking up uneasy cohabitation with the townsfolk there. They farmed the basin surrounding the town, granting them a reprieve from Caesar—much to Lanius’ frustration, Saevus passed along. The few priestesses traveling with them settled there, rather than move on into the wilds, forming a pitifully small Temple.

They kept Aura with them as Calidus and his men forged east, finding ways through canyons and destroyed highways. Tribes had claimed the mountains as theirs, making passage fraught. Saevus threw his men at them wholesale, chasing them deep into the mountains, into ambushes and inhospitable reaches, bleeding Legionaries into the Rockies. More cautious, Calidus held his own men back, baiting the tribals into the open, took as many as possible alive to draw more to their aid. Saevus grew sullen, Caesar congratulating him personally for securing passage to Colorado City.

The Legion caught its breath there, but only just. The City townsfolk were little more than tribe themselves, and were quickly assimilated as slaves, bearing burdens and tending their fighters, the Legion even pressing adult men into service as warriors out of desperation. 

It was a mere few days they spent there, but Calidus claimed a home as his own rather than bother with a tent. An empty place, dead, so much gloom with the curtains drawn and planks over the windows. He searched it slowly for any surprises, salvaged super sledge in one hand. His boot knocked into something as he stuck his head into a bedroom, and he looked down. A child’s toy, with more strewn over the floor, covered in dust.

He put a hand to his face a moment, before continuing on. He shouldn’t miss her. Shouldn’t miss her mother, who had precious little patience for him, anymore.

Let her hate him. He deserved little else.

—

Their supply lines were tenuous, but Aura was brought north again in time, meeting the Legion’s main force outside Pueblo. A recruit led her and Merula to one of the command tents, allowing them to slip inside. Calidus glanced at them, briefly losing the thread of what he was saying. He shook himself, turning back to Saevus and a pair of decanii. “We _cannot_ afford to lose more men. The Temple has no more recruits ready, and the tribes here can’t sustain us. I don’t care what the Legate is ordering. With Caesar headed back West, we’re the ones stuck being the voice of reason.”

The decanii saluted and left, but Saevus lingered. “Don’t _care_ what the Legate thinks? Risky game you’re playing, Cal.”

“We are cut off from the rest of the Legion,” Calidus said. “That’s risk enough. I’m not interested in taking more.”

“Lentulus ran a conservative century, and you saw what Lanius did to him,” Saevus said, with the stupid grin that Aura had always wanted to cut from his face. “If you don’t order decimation of your own men, he will…and pity you won’t be alive to see it.”

“And when you’re the last man alive in yours?” Calidus said, not rising to it. “You already have nothing left _to_ decimate.”

“And the men I have left are—”

“Are muttering because you're saving your own skin back in camp, instead of leading them into the fight,” he said, stepping closer. Saevus wavered, but didn’t back away, forced to look up at him. “Part of the Legate’s war council? Not for much longer, unless you grow a brain _and_ a set of balls.”

Aura saw his expression falter, grin fading to the bared teeth of a cornered thing. His eyes went to her. “Balls? Unlike you, I don’t need to—”

The blow laid him out flat. Aura pressed Merula behind her, still holding their things. Calidus’ face was almost serene as he let Saevus half-rise, one hard kick sending him through the opening of the tent. He followed him out, to another _smack_ of fist on flesh.

Aura stepped further into the tent, righting her stool from where it had been knocked over. Merula stayed frozen in the corner, staring at the entrance, legs bowed and ready to run. “Come here,” Aura said, and she obeyed without thinking. Aura lifted her bag out her the girl’s arms, digging through for a pouch. “I saw the townies had a market, coming in. Take these, go find us something for supper.”

She seemed bewildered by something so mundane, but left willingly when Aura untied one of the back panels so she could slip away. The sound of the beating faded, and Aura kept her back to the entrance, poking open the vent in the roof and stoking the camp stove. She recognized Calidus’ footsteps as he entered, and didn’t turn. “Did you kill him?”

“Not quite,” he said, barely out of breath.

“Then what good are you?”

Silence. It was a long moment before he moved, stepping into the corner of her vision. She saw him take a rag and healing powder from a satchel, knuckles split and bloodied. “Are you well?”

“It was born term, but had a cleft palate,” she said, feeding another splinter of wood into the stove. “The priestesses said they might have someone who could fix it, if they could get it to Flagstaff.” Didn’t tell him the doubt in her voice, how the child gurgled and choked as it tried to nurse. How far it was to Flagstaff, from the front; that, he knew. “It counted in our favor either way.”

He hesitated, wrapping his hands. She didn’t look over as he repeated, “Are _you_ well?”

“No,” she said, dry-eyed. He didn’t reach for her, and she almost relished the pain in her heart, wanting him to hold her but defying the urge. She focused on her work, taking him from the corner of her eye.

“How far would you go, if I got you out?”

_A thousand miles south, if there were anyone left to have me._

Aura said nothing, her back to him.

“Do you know how to survive out there? Use a gun? I—”

“Don’t.”

“I could make it days before anyone—”

“ _Stop_.” Looking over her shoulder, he knelt behind her, low, as nonthreatening as a giant like him could be while still spattered in another man’s blood. “You know what will happen, if I’m caught.”

“Yes, but—”

“But?” she said. He looked at the ground. “Even if I made it out, I’d be alone, out there, after how long? How long since I fired a gun, done harder work than lift needle and thread? What would you do, come _with_ , when all I want is you _gone_ from my life?”

He seemed a little smaller at that. “No. There’s nothing left for me, outside the Legion.”

“So you’ll just keep playing soldier, then, murdering your way across the country.” Aura turned away. “Because you have _nothing better_ to do with your time.”

—

Dogs swarmed the hills north, leading to Denver. The Legion ground on, seemingly bound to die in Lanius’ footsteps.

Calidus found it tempting, some days, to simply drop his guard and let it happen. Being torn apart by animals would be a faster death than crucifixion, or anything the Legate might devise. But instinct and training were ground too deep, and nights found him returning to camp despite himself.

Aura barely spoke to him, and he let it pass. He tended his own wounds for weeks, until she saw him struggling to clean a bite on his face. “That’s too close to your eye,” she said, setting her book aside.

“I’ll manage,” he said. Unable to see the state of it, he grimaced as he wiped at the wound, feeling something pull.

“Kneel,” she said, opening her bag beside her stool

He frowned, looking away, but she beckoned to him again. Setting his helmet aside as he did, he saw her wince. “The hair, I know,” he said, not looking at her.

Aura narrowed her eyes, but her mouth quirked as she recognized the joke. She ran her fingers through it, plastered down from being under his helmet, but long enough to stick up as she ruffled it. “Haven’t been shaving it?”

“Too much work,” Calidus said, trying not to lean into the touch. She put a hand on his cheek, turning his head to see the wound. Eyes closed as she rinsed it clean, he murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Her hands left his face. He almost opened his eyes, but she cupped his face again, turning him toward the lantern. “Are you?”

The needle was a bright, clear pain in his cheek, easy to ignore. “There is nothing I can do right for you,” he said. “Except stay alive.”

Aura was silent. She worked up over the cheekbone, until she was placing stitches in the thin skin near his eye. “Hold still,” she said, holding his chin.

He sighed through his nose by way of apology, bracing himself as she finished. Hearing her set her tools aside, he opened his eyes, but didn’t look up. “Aura, I…”

She ran her fingers through his hair, to his neck and shoulders. He let her draw him close, laying his head in her lap, reaching to put his arms around her waist. Her breath was on his neck as she bent down. “I cannot forgive you,” she whispered, her lips on his hair. “I need you to know that.” Another kiss, on the nape of his neck. “But we are all we have, and we can only make do.”

Calidus held her as gently as he could, breathing her in. He nodded against her, and she pushed him up, reaching for the razor in her bag.


	3. Chapter 3

Aura heard the muttering, through the other women in camp. The pair of priestesses working with their healers were more reserved, and Aura waited until she straightened, taking her ear from the brahmin horn pressed to her abdomen. “Strong heartbeat, at least. And this is your fourth?”

“Aside from a few miscarried,” she said, sitting up on the cot, her belly just large enough to make it awkward. “Is there news from the Temple?”

The priestess looked up, veil still hiding her face. The rest of the infirmary was empty, and no shadows fell against the canvas. “One of ours is set to become the next High Priestess,” she said, voice low. “So, we have that in our favor.”

Aura nodded, swinging her feet to the ground. “And as to who Lanius is leaving in charge here?”

She shook her head. “Everything you’ve heard here is as close to true as it gets.”

“Saevus.”

“Most likely.”

Aura dropped her head. Of course it was. Who else would be stupid and vicious enough for Lanius to favor?

“Chin up,” the priestess said, rubbing her shoulder. “If your husband’s as opposed to him as you say, we might be able to sway things. Maybe not right away, but…I’ll send word back.”

“Yes,” Aura said, voice dull.

She gave her shoulder a squeeze, and helped her stand. “All we can do is wait,” she said, walking her out. “For now, just rest. Don’t stress yourself over it too much, if you can.”

Aura snorted, and the priestess patted her on the back as she left.

—

Legate Venator.

Calidus stood by as Lanius prepared to lead his men away, headed through the Utah wasteland before joining Caesar in the Mojave. Saevus moved through the camp outside Denver like he owned it—and he did, now, commanding the Legion in Colorado in Lanius’ wake.

 _Should have been you,_ he heard a few mutter, behind his back. Calidus didn’t acknowledge it. He was only a centurion in name, now. He had been ordered to remain, heading the largest surviving century, but the post was a formality with the Legate to command them.

He had a duty to the Legion, to accept it without complaint.

“Legate doesn’t have much use for cowards,” Saevus said, admiring the black fletching in the crest of his helm. “What other reason would you have for so many left? You just let _us_ do the hard work.”

He had a right, by the Legion’s custom, to challenge either Legate—and should he win, their rank, their men, their slaves and wives, would fall to him.

Calidus realized he was staring, something tense crept into Saevus' face. But over his shoulder, Lanius' tent was still standing, and beyond it the Legate himself. The Blade of the East, propped beside him, was nearly as tall as the veterans he was speaking to.

And should he lose...

Calidus only inclined his head to him. “You’ll need to form a Praetorian guard, will you not?”

Saevus snorted, breaking the moment, settling the helmet back on his head. “Good joke.” He caught Calidus’ expression, brow furrowing. “You’re not _serious_.”

“I have no Legionaries left in my command,” he said. “Though by the sound of it, the most of my century disagrees with the Legate's decision.”

“They answer to me, now.” Saevus said, but Calidus saw him glance at the camp. “And they would do well to remember it.”

“Then I may as well be of use,” Calidus said, mildly. “Show me a man who can best me, barehanded, in the Arena.”

Saevus’ face twitched. He forced a smile, showing broken teeth.

—

Aura went north with a drove of Legion reinforcements, mostly recruits and a handful of veterans at their head. She stuck close to the priestesses and their guards, the younger men louder, more volatile than the ones she encountered at Calidus’ side. The baby at her chest griped as they set up a yell, another group walking down the highway.

The priestesses moved to the side of the road, drawing Aura and their slaves along. The men were bolder, staying close enough to call to the Legionaries headed south, Lanius at their head. She tried to soothe the infant, but he started to wail at the noise, high and clear enough to cut across the crowd.

The Legate turned, tracking the sound.

She went cold, trying to duck out of sight, two of the priestesses’ Praetorians stepping up to block her from view. Aura whispered to the boy, bouncing him as she tried to distract him, quiet him, anything.

The southbound procession passed. Her own started moving again, and she felt her heart resume beating.

Denver proper was still uninhabitable, swarming with dogs, and the Legion camp was based in a town on its outskirts. The reinforcements set to pitching tents in a clearing, and one of the Praetorians led her into the town.

Calidus didn’t quite light up as she stepped into the house, but stood to greet her, his armor laid out on the table. His eyes went to the sling on her chest. “The child?”

“A boy,” she said, cradling him a little tighter. “Healthy. So far.”

He held out his hands. “Can I…?”

“It’s better you don’t,” she said, looking down. “The Temple will take him, as soon as they have a slave available.”

He didn’t move, whispered, “Please.”

His hands were almost big enough to cradle him entirely, the boy gurgling as he woke. Aura watched them, a weight in her heart, the scars on his face pulling at his smile, rubbing at the near-white curls on the boy’s head. For a moment, she could pretend all was well. She could pretend there was no Legion, that she’d be allowed to see him grow, to laugh and run…

“Where was he born?” Calidus said, not looking away.

Aura shook her head. “One of the camps. Nowhere in particular.” The boy started to fuss, and she held out her hands, gathering him back to her breast. “We couldn’t get back to Alamosa, with the supply lines what they are.”

“That’s it? Nowhere close?” he said, still watching him.

“A mountain was the nearest landmark, Pike’s Peak…” She saw the thoughtful look in his eye, shook her head. “Don’t name him.”

He shook his head. “That’s my _son_.”

There was such hopelessness in the word, helplessness in his face, that Aura had to close her eyes. “It will only make it harder. Trust me.”

“The girl.” Calidus looked up. “They didn’t let you…”

“They did,” she said, down looking at the boy.

She didn’t resist as he held her close, leaning into him and accepting the comfort.

—

The messenger came in the night, less than a week later. Calidus caught his arm as he approached the Legate’s tent. “What’s so urgent?”

He was little more than a recruit, staggering to a halt and putting his hands on his knees. “Message for the Legate, from the front,” he wheezed.

“Legate is not to be disturbed.” _The legate is a lazy bastard who gets to sleep through the night._ “Any message for him goes through me.”

The runner nodded, still slumped. “Caesar is dead. Mars has reclaimed his son.”

Calidus stared down at him, then cuffed him on the shoulder. “Stand up straight. Take a breath and say that again.”

The boy complied, swallowing hard as he tried to stop panting. “Caesar has been killed, in the Mojave. There’s a crazy woman, a courier…”

There was nothing to be done, in the opposite end of the Legion’s territory. Weeks away from the Mojave, all they could do was try and reinforce their supply lines…or rather, Calidus looked to their logistics, while their Legate tried to chase down another tribe on their flanks, tired of sitting around waiting for news.

More came, while the Legate returned to Denver to recuperate. He did not react to the runners words, and Calidus had to dismiss him.

Lanius was dead, killed by the same Courier who killed Caesar, and she had claimed New Vegas for her own.

There was a long silence between them, until Saevus—Venator—finally straightened. “We’ll burn that city to the ground.”

—

The priestesses were subdued. “The Flagstaff Temple is calling on cohorts loyal to Mars,” one of them said, leaning over the boy as he lay back on a cot. Snapping her fingers on either side of him, she nodded as he twisted to face the sound. “They don’t want to close the city’s walls, but it sounds like they will, if any of the Legion decides we’re better off without them.”

Aura watched her examine the boy, frowning. “I know they hope to lead us, but…”

“The High Priestess is playing a close game. It depends on who she can swing her way,” she said, feeling his belly. “They’d like your husband on their side, if they can. Preferably without Venator.”

“We’ll have to see,” she said, and sighed. “He should have just _challenged_ him. Either of them. If any man here could have given Lanius a fight..."

The priestess glanced up, reflexively looking for listeners, but the tent was empty. “It would have simplified everything,” she said. "Talk to him. They both know the odds, between him and Venator."

"He won't hear it," Aura said. Her son tried to turn over, reaching towards her voice.

"Then keep trying," the priestess said, voice low. Pinching at the boy’s toes, she said more loudly, “Look at this, imagine if he grows into these feet!” She tickled at them, and the baby squealed. “He’ll be bigger than his father, yes he will.”

—

The Legate called for the Legion to strike camp, and return to Arizona. Calidus passed through the noise and confusion, stopping to break up a clump of recruits ready to murder one another over a set of tent stakes.

Saevus’ tent was still standing, and Calidus found him looking over the maps laid out on a table, a pair of lesser Praetorians standing idle. A glance aside showed a third near the entrance. “Has more news come in from the south?”

“No, and I’m tired of waiting,” the Legate said, letting a map roll itself shut. “The Temple is calling for men to gather there, but something in it doesn’t sit well. I won’t be ordered around by a bunch of women.”

“Of course,” Calidus said; neutral, but enough to keep him going.

“I want you to question the priestesses with us,” Saevus said. “See what they know, if there’s anything…underhanded, going on.”

He narrowed his eyes, and said, “They have no reason to work against us.”

“We can’t be certain of that!” he said, waving a hand. “If the Temple is reaching for power, we need to intervene. Find out, however you can.”

 _I won’t torture women._ “Legate…you are asking me to harm priestesses of Mars,” Calidus said, keeping his voice level. “If we are to keep his favor, that is surely not the path.”

“Oh, don’t come on all religious, Cal,” Venator said, straightening. “If anyone had Mars’ ear, it was Caesar himself, and he’s rotting in that desert somewhere. Short of him sending another Son to us…”

The Legate was staring thoughtfully at him, and Calidus shifted his weight. The other Praetorians shared a look, stepping up. “Saevus, are we going south to the Temple or not?”

“I think we might,” he said, slowly. “Your son…He was born not half a year ago, yes? Close to the time Caesar died. The white-haired boy.”

He had to remember to breathe. “Don’t you dare touch—”

“Oh, I won’t. No harm will come to him,” Venator said, coming around the table. The Praetorians fell in behind him, and Calidus heard the one off his shoulder shift. “Sentiment, Calidus. That’s always been your problem.”

“I won’t—”

“If you turn on me now, you will not leave this camp alive,” he said, stepping closer. “Nor will your wife. Nor will your son. So no, you won’t. You won’t do _anything_ to jeopardize them, will you?”

His hand clenched, in the ballistic fist, and Calidus said nothing

“Sentiment,” Venator said, softly. “You put your wants ahead of the Legion’s needs. _That_ is why Lanius passed you by.”

He stood in easy reach. Calidus could hear the Legion outside the tent, hundreds of men ready to defend the Legate—or rise up against him.

And then? With a rabble of mere recruits at his back, and the rest of the Legion to bring to his side?

“You _won’t_.”

Calidus looked over the Legate’s shoulder. The Praetorians were men he knew, men devoted to their leader. Both had shifted their weight, ready to fight, even as one swallowed nervously.

”You three heard nothing.” Venator nodded to Calidus. “Go to your woman. Tell her to travel with the priestesses from here on. They’ll have more orders for her.”

—

Aura didn’t look up from packing, hearing Calidus’ long strides approaching. “Have you seen my sewing things?” she said, feeling through a stack of diapers. “I had my kit yesterday…”

No answer. She looked back at him, as he nodded to Merula. “Step outside.”

She dipped into a bow as she passed him, and he didn’t acknowledge it, looking down at Aura. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Calidus knelt, still not quite level with her, but trying. He looked over at the boy, sitting up against a cushion and gnawing a hard biscuit. “Is he well?”

“According to the priestesses, yes,” she said, slow. “But the Alamosa Temple was disbanded, they don’t have anyone to take him until he’s weaned.”

“That will no longer be a concern.”

The boy looked back and forth between them as they spoke. Calidus paused, gazing at him, and the boy held out the biscuit, smiling widely enough to show off both the teeth in his lower jaw. “Ba!”

Calidus started to reach back, and Aura picked the boy up, wiping drool off his face. “What’s happened?” she said, heart sinking.

He sat back on one heel, looking away. “The Legate has orders for you.”

“For me?” Aura’s blood ran cold, and flushed in the same moment. “I won’t do a damn thing for that man.”

Calidus sighed, and the frustration in it made her tense. “I know,” he said. “It’s not…He doesn’t want you, directly.”

She looked down at the child in her arms, still gnawing on his treat. “What is this, then? He doesn’t think the boy is…?”

“No, but he expects enough of the men will believe him,” he said. “And that’s all he needs.”

“I won’t go.” She held the boy a little closer, and he mumbled nonsense. “I am safer with you than…”

“The priestesses’ Guard stood between you and Lanius,” he said, looking at a point on the ground. “Venator, or anyone else, won’t be able to lay a hand on you.”

“And that’s it? No offer to break me out?” Aura said, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “No heroics, at the last?”

He closed his eyes. “The Guard will be here shortly,” he said, voice soft. “The priestesses will tell you more.”

She stood with him, the boy in her arms wide-eyed. “You’re a coward,” she managed to choke.

“Yes.” He wouldn’t look at her. Aura stared up at him, daring him to say more, for an explanation; for him to reach out, to speak one final, inappropriate _I love you_.

At last, he turned away, toward the sound of men approaching. Pausing at the entrance, his voice was heavy with regret. “You are both to serve something greater, within the Legion.”


End file.
